Jack & Sadie

by JB Salsbury

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jack

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.” Lying next to a sleeping Sadie, I brush her hair off her face and watch her dark lashes flutter before her eyebrows drop in frustration. “Don’t be like that, beautiful.”

  I’m holding back laughter because my girl has always hated waking up from naps. After we spent the day sightseeing—which mostly consisted of me dragging her to every well-known art gallery in the city (I’m a selfish dick, I know)—she was dead on her feet by the time we got back to my apartment. I suggested she take a nap and we’d spend the night in. (Selfish. Dick.) What can I say? I’m sick of sharing Sadie with New York. And I have the perfect night planned.

  I check the clock. It’s after seven o’clock. If I don’t wake her up, she’s likely to sleep ‘til morning.

  “Wake up,” I say in a sing-song voice. “I know you’re hungry.”

  She groans, rolls over, and pulls the comforter over her head.

  “That’s it. You asked for it, Sadie girl.” I slip off the bed, stand at the foot, and grip the comforter and sheet before ripping them off her body. “Wake up!”

  “Ughhh…” She flops to her back, her fists slamming into the mattress.

  I grin.

  Huge.

  “I hate you.”

  I climb up over her body, making sure to hold myself away from her so she won’t feel my weight on her. “Liar.”

  Her eyes eventually open, that heart-stopping blue-green gaze made even greener with sleep. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Demanding,” I tease.

  “I’m trying to decide if it’s worth getting out of bed for.”

  “You don’t have to get out of bed. I’ll be happy to feed you right where you lay.” God, why did that sound so dirty? The sexual tension between us has been stringing tighter and tighter, our innocent touches becoming less innocent with every brush of our skin.

  She smirks, her thoughts obviously on track with mine. “I guess I’ll get up.”

  I frown. Not the answer I hoped for, but I have all night to change her mind. “Great!” I hop off the bed. “Meet me in the living room when you’re ready.”

  She moans and flops to her side.

  I point at her from the doorway. “Don’t you dare go back to sleep.” A pillow flies at my head, but I expected it, so I dodge it easily. “Still so feisty.”

  She flips me off.

  God, I love her.

  With a smile, I head to the fridge and bust out the large plastic trays that were delivered thirty minutes ago. I ordered practically every item on the menu from Oko Sushi, wanting to make sure Sadie was satisfied with her options. I pull out the bottle of chilled sparkling apple cider I picked up while she was sleeping and bring it all to the floor picnic I set up.

  The History of the Industrial Revolution is cued up on the television. I fill two champagne glasses, remove the plastic tops from our dinner, and when she doesn’t come out, I take the opportunity to check my phone.

  I open the myBubble app. Check the doorway. Type. Send.

  * * *

  Any updates?

  * * *

  I hear her phone ping in the bedroom and frown. This is so fucking wrong. Dawn needs to disappear. Back when I started pretending to be Dawn, I felt justified because I simply wanted to know if Sadie was all right, what had been going on in her life since we broke up. When she was refusing to take my calls, I had no other choice.

  But now?

  Fuck.

  I close the app and shove my phone in my pocket—then it vibrates with a new message. Don’t look at it. Just ignore it.

  Oh, who am I kidding? I look at the screen with hungry eyes and an eager heart.

  * * *

  Nope. Still blissfully happy and in love.

  * * *

  This is why I still need to be Dawn! Why won’t Sadie say those words to me? I’ve confessed my feelings for her, told her I still love her, that I’m in love with her, and she doesn’t feel comfortable saying it back. I need to know why. I reply and hit Send.

  * * *

  You tell him yet?

  * * *

  She doesn’t respond right away, but I hear the bathroom door close. Seconds later, text bubbles appear.

  * * *

  No. I’m not sure I should.

  * * *

  “What the fuck?” I whisper. “Why not?”

  * * *

  Why not?

  * * *

  Text bubbles come and go, and I wait with bated breath for her response. Finally, after what feels like forever, her reply comes through.

  * * *

  Regardless of how we feel, we still have the same problems. We live on opposite sides of the country. We have different life goals. We couldn’t overcome those things years ago. I can’t imagine we’ll be able to overcome them now.

  * * *

  “Bullshit.” I type the word then backspace to delete it. My fingers hover over the keys, but when I hear the bathroom door open, I close the app and shove the phone into my pocket.

  She drags her tired feet toward me, her eyes fixed on the feast. “Sushi?”

  I clear my throat, feeling a little off-center after her last text to Dawn. “Yes. Best in town.”

  Her eyes slide to the television and she chuckles, the sound gravelly from sleep and so fucking sweet. “No way! History of the Industrial Revolution?”

  “Thought I’d bring us back to our first date.”

  Back then, I’d picked the most boring movie I could find because I’d hoped the theater would be empty so we could sit in the dark, share popcorn, and talk. Or, ya know, make out a little. The night ended up being a disaster when my dad showed up and was the only other person in the theater. Thank God he fell asleep during the first ten minutes and we managed to sneak out.

  She sits on the pillow across from me and lifts her cider. “It’s perfect. Cheers.”

  We touch glasses, and I hit Play on the movie that, again, I’m hoping is too boring to watch. But my stomach already feels full and I haven’t taken a single bite.

  Full of defeat.

  Full of doubt.

  Full of fear that I may never be able to fix what’s wrong with us.

  Sadie

  “You didn’t have to eat it!” I don’t know who has more tears falling from their eyes—me from laughing, or Jack from the donut-hole-sized wad of wasabi he ate.

  His eyes are slammed shut, his fingers pinching his nose as he falls to his side and groans. “Yes, I did!” He tucks his knees into a fetal position. “You dared me!”

  “You feel that burn, Jackson Daniels? That’s your body punishing you for being prideful.” I laugh when he flops onto his back, breathing heavily, his eyes still dripping with tears. “Was it worth it?”

  He inhales, exhales, and shakes his head. “It felt like burning acid was poured in my nose and dissolving my brain.”

  I giggle, and he pushes up on his elbows. The look in his eyes has me scooting backward on my butt.

  “This is all your fault, ya know.”

  “Don’t you blame me for that. You accepted the dare!” I squeal and dart away from him as he crawls toward me.

  “You knew I’d accept it.” He’s on all fours, prowling after me. “Have you ever known me to not accept a dare?”

  “Now that you mention it…” I say playfully, because of course I knew he’d accept the dare. Jack has a biological propensity for needing to be the toughest guy in the room. It’s in the Daniels’ DNA. “You did eat that ant I dared you to eat in third grade.”

  He nods, his green eyes alight with humor and his signature playful sexiness I always loved. “I did.”

  “And when I dared you to TP Principal Gilbert’s house in eighth grade, you did that too.” I continue to scoot away from him as he inches forward.

  “My point exactly.”

  My back hits his leather club chair. “You also wore my hot pink tank top to school our senior year when I dared you t
o do that.”

  He gets closer, and I’m stuck with nowhere to go. “I got hit on by three different girls that day, so I’d say that dare backfired.”

  “Maybe I dared them to hit on you.”

  He laughs, the sound deep and soothing as he breaches my personal space. Feeling cornered, I involuntarily suck in a breath so quiet I think he may not notice. He becomes unnaturally still and his playful smirk melts into a frown before he drops his gaze.

  To break the awkwardness between us, I push up to bring my lips to his. Initiating the contact helps me bypass memories of that night on the beach. It helps remind me I’m in control. His soft lips mold to mine, and his mouth tastes of soy sauce and wasabi.

  I smile against his lips. “Spicy.”

  He chuckles and pulls me closer. “Now it’s settled. History has proven there’s little I won’t do for you, Sadie Slade.”

  “Only on a dare.” The familiar sting of him leaving, getting caught up in his life and forgetting all about me flares.

  “No.” He cups my jaw, forks his fingers in my hair, and waits for me to nod my approval of his touch. “Not anymore.” He presses a kiss to my lips. “From now on.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’ll give you whatever you want.” He kisses the other corner. “Ask and it’s yours.”

  He continues to kiss my face. My eyelids, down my cheek to my earlobe, my neck. Every brush of his lips has my pulse pounding a little harder. He shifts his butt to get closer and pulls me onto his lap—not straddling him like last night but sitting sideways. I dip my chin to capture his lips, slip my tongue into his warm and welcoming mouth, and his other hand tangles in my hair along with the first one.

  With his back against the couch, my hands clutching his T-shirt, we kiss until our lips are sore and swollen. He makes no move to push things further, seeming as content to lose himself in my mouth as I am in his. I study his closed eyes as we kiss, his dark lashes that don’t seem right with his light hair, his perfect skin I know is as soft as it looks. He really is so pretty, and for the time being, he’s all mine.

  So what do I want to do tonight?

  I take a quick inventory of my body. My tingling legs, racing heart, and the delicious ache between my legs. I almost break the kiss with surprise, and I’m grateful that I manage to hang on. It’s been so long since I’ve felt turned on.

  Leave it to Jack to bring me to the point of near orgasm with nothing more than kissing. He’s so perfectly predictable, and I love it. With everything about him that has changed—his focus on success and expensive tastes—one thing that hasn’t changed is the effect he has on me.

  I’m not sure how far I can go, but I want to try to be touched again, and he’s the only man I’d trust to do it.

  Pulling back from his lips, I rest my forehead against his. My pulse roars and I try unsuccessfully to calm it. “Take me to bed.”

  With a tiny hitch in his breath, he asks, “Are you sure?”

  I manage a smirk. “I dare you.”

  Quicker than I would’ve thought possible, considering our position on the floor, he scoops me into his arms and stands.

  He whirls toward the bedroom door, his face scrunching up in disgust. “I think I stepped on an eel roll.”

  He shakes his foot, sending clumps of rice to the floor, then continues forward with me laughing in his arms. He slows when we enter the bedroom, the air growing heavy with anticipation and expectation. He sets me on the bed but doesn’t follow me to the mattress. Instead, he stands there looking at me.

  “I don’t know if I can…” I swallow. “Make love yet.”

  God, he looks so handsome staring at me, his blond hair falling over his forehead, green eyes shining with affection and concern. His wide shoulders encased in gray cotton and his faded jeans that look as if they should’ve been trashed years ago hanging loosely on his narrow hips.

  “You already have been making love to me, babe. Last night, this morning in the kitchen, holding my hand all day. Doesn’t matter to me how you do it, but you should know you have been doing it.”

  “Come here.”

  He pulls his shirt off and crawls over me. He lifts his brows, and I nod for him to lower his weight between my legs. I expect phantom fingers to wrap around my lungs, but they don’t. I expect his soft sheets to turn to coarse sand against my skin. But staring into his eyes, I only feel the warmth of his acceptance.

  “I need you to speak up, okay? Be vocal. Let me know how you’re feeling so I don’t go too far.”

  “Right now, your weight feels good.”

  He dips his head and kisses my throat, up my jaw, and hovers over my lips maddeningly. I lift and press my lips to his, giving him permission to drop his chest to mine. He slips off to my side, giving me enough space so that I don’t feel smothered as I get lost in the sensation of his kiss.

  I grab his hand and slide it up my shirt, and he frees my breast from the confines of my bra. He toys with my hardened nipple, but not roughly. Gently. Coaxing me to brave more.

  With a shove of my foot on the bed, I roll on top of him, sit up, and toss my shirt to the floor. He swallows hard and licks his lips as I unlatch my bra and it quickly follows the shirt. I forgot how arousing it is to be desired by him. To have his eyes communicate a want so extreme, he trembles. I grip his hands and pull them both to my breasts. He cups their weight, the pads of his thumbs brushing over my nipples, and soon I’m rocking against the thick hard-on held captive behind his jeans.

  “This feels so good,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on his.

  He hums his agreement. “You’re so pretty.”

  I would think he was complimenting my body if it weren’t for the fact that his gaze hasn’t left mine.

  The friction building between us, both at my breasts and between my thighs, brings to the surface a pulsing need that my rubbing against him can’t satisfy. My hips still when I realize what it is I want, where the unbridled sexual need has taken me.

  Sensing something’s wrong, he drops his hands to my ribs. “What is it? Should we stop?”

  “No. I think…” No, I don’t think. I know. My throbbing insides and quaking thighs demand it. “I want you to touch me.”

  “Of course.” He places his hands back on my breasts.

  “Not there.”

  His eyelids, which had been at half-mast, are now fully alert. “Are you sure?”

  Instead of answering, I roll to his side, lie next to him on my back, lift my hips, and push my sleeping shorts and panties down and off until I’m completely naked. And yet, I feel completely at ease. Being naked near Jack feels as natural as being alone in the nude. He’s the only boy who has ever seen me like this. He knows every curve, every freckle and scar. Although time has passed, it seems my body hasn’t forgotten him.

  He props up on an elbow next to me, his gaze running the length of my body from hip to head. He licks his lips and finally rests his hand between my breasts at my sternum. “Your heart is racing.”

  “That’s because I’m excited.”

  “Not scared?” He’s giving me a chance to back out.

  “A little, but only because I don’t want to go back to that night in my head. I wouldn’t be asking you to touch me if I didn’t want you to.”

  He seems satisfied because he runs his hand down my torso, swirls the tips of his fingers around my belly button, then skates his fingertips from hip to hip and back again. The motion is soothing, calming. With each pass, my legs fall a little farther apart until they’re wide and wanting.

  “Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, his voice so heavy with want I almost can’t make out what he said.

  I agree to his request, and then finally, his fingers slip between my legs. I suck in a shuddered breath, and he watches my expression. He must be okay with whatever he sees because he doesn’t stop. As he did with my torso, he does the same between my legs, teasing, tempting, winding me up so tightly that I’ll be begging for release.

  “Talk to me.”


  “I’m okay. Really.” I arch my back and press against his hand, hoping to increase the pressure, but he backs off.

  It’s maddening. He’s touching me enough to get me wound up, but I know he’s in a holding pattern until I ask for more.

  After minutes of this beautiful torture, I finally lose control and tell him what I want. “I need your fingers.”

  “You’ve got ‘em, Sadie girl.” He increases his pressure enough to prove a point, as if to say, “See, here I am.”

  “Inside me.” I arch my back again. “Please.”

  He hums in satisfaction and finally slips one long, powerful finger inside. Because my body is primed for what’s next, his finger slips in easily, and before I’m able to ask, he joins it with another. “Still good?”

  Incapable of words, I hold his wrist where he’s at, forbidding him to remove his fingers, and nod. I keep my eyes on him, my breathing even despite the fact that it wants to speed up and send me spiraling—to ecstasy or the memories of that night on the beach, I don’t know. My jaw clenches as I force my mind to stay in the present and focus on the way he makes me feel. The love that shines in his eyes as he watches me wrestle with demons that were violently gifted to me. I refuse to allow a lifetime of pure, untainted love between Jack and me to be dirtied by the acts of one hideous man.

  Jack leans forward and brushes his soft lips against mine, where he whispers, “Breathe, baby.”

  Had I forgotten to breathe? I blow out the breath I’d been holding, and he rewards me with a tender kiss.

  My muscles finally uncoil, and eventually he draws soft moans from me as he remembers exactly how I like to be touched. The weight of my eyelids feels like too much and they threaten to close. They flutter, then open, and he kisses them in turn.